Anzu in Wonderland
by Cee-CeetheHedgie
Summary: "She was dancing with Death, the one who snuffed out the spark of life within countless people and silenced pain with a finger on its cold lips. The dance was slow, and drawn out. Colour was being drained away from the environment, until a blanket a blanket of grey covered the dying and the wounded, sending them all into an eternal slumber. "


"_Sweet dreams are made of these_

_Who am I to disagree?_

_Travelled the world and the Seven Seas_

_Everybody's looking for something…"_

_(Sweet Dreams, Marilyn Manson version)_

Some dreams are the type that set people on a journey, be it a journey to change the world or to fight to keep it the same. Dreams are what gives a person motives, gives them 'un raison d'être', and bestows upon them the will to live. Dreams are what defines a person, and gets them through this perilous path we call life. Sometimes, they are what force a person to live, to choose a path in front of them.

They are sometimes known as 'nightmares', fear that cements itself in the minds of cowards and the strong alike. They can be private terrors, forcing one down the path of self-destruction. But no matter how dark and twisted they become, life depends on dreams to continue to survive.

Such is a dream that a young brunette is having, sleeping soundly in her bed. She dreams of many things; to dance her way into Broadway, into the arms of a loving husband, and to have little feet prancing in her footsteps that will be left behind as a legacy. She also wants to meet someone, a person close to her heart, but his dreams have already been fulfilled and she knows that she will have to wait a long time before even he will allow the meeting to happen.

The slumbering form of the girl twitches and rolls around in her sleep. The lush green of the trees that surrounded her in her dream's vision was giving way to bloody reds and the darkest of blacks, embers were replacing the shrubs and undergrowth and the friendly calls of the animals were being drowned out by battle cries. Death rung out over the checkerboard fields, and a sense of loss wrapped its suffocating tendrils around her mind, twirling her around and away from the happy dreams she was leaving behind.

She was dancing with Death, the one who snuffed out the spark of life within countless people and silenced pain with a finger on its cold lips. The dance was slow, and drawn out. Colour was being drained away from the environment, until a blanket a blanket of grey covered the dying and the wounded, sending them all into an eternal slumber. Still she danced, her feet worn out from the private show that she was giving to Death.

She looked down at her pale self, and noticed that she too had no vibrant splashes of colour to set her apart from everyone else. Her skin was grey, as was the school uniform she was clothed in. she lifted a monochrome hand to her cheek, and felt warmth and water trickle down her face. She was crying, crying for her lost dreams, shedding tears for those now lying peacefully dead around her, sobbing for her inevitable fate.

The girl stared at Death, ready to meet her very own Doom, but it had disappeared, leaving behind a golden full-length mirror in its place. She had finally stopped dancing as her hand dropped from her face and she reached out to cautiously touch the ice-cold glass. The girl who stared back reached out to her as well, their fingers brushing the mirror together.

At this simple touch, the uniform melted away from their bodies, only to be replaced by a silken dress of the most royal of blues. A black leather belt buckled up the waist, a clock face evident in its design. The long hand was artfully stitched on to point somewhere between 12 and 3, while the small hand pointed skyward.

A clock seemed to have exploded over the top half of her skirt, for it was frosted with gears and cogs. The bottom half was made of a net-type material with silk attached underneath. She could just about spy a slither of lacy ivory underskirt peeking out from the helm of the dress. Black and white striped tights smothered her toned legs, the material light and stretchy. Her calves were hidden behind white belted boots, with splashes of gold and red colouring the buckles. There were tar coloured heels protruding from the bottom of the boot, shining and reflecting a seemingly invisible light source.

With this transformation, the screams came tearing through the air again. They were filled with anger, pain and anguish, despairing over lost comrades and lost limbs. But they didn't concern her now. What was looking back at her from its home in the mirror terrified her more than the shrieks of the dying.

Death was staring at her from the other side of the reflective glass, its gaze cold and unblinking. It seemed to be calculating something in its mind, staring intently into her eyes. Finally, it had made up its mind on whatever decision it had been previously pondering and slowly reached its hand – or was it a claw? – and gripped her wrist tightly.

Her skin reddened slightly where it had grasped her, and, too late, she realised what it had been thinking. It was wondering what judgement to pass onto her, and now she would know her fate.

Death yanked her through the mirror, the glass shattering to make way for her trembling body, before sealing up again behind her. The space where the looking glass had been previously was now bricked up, with ivy and roses clambering, climbing and blooming up the surface of the rough stone. She backed up against it, seeing Death slowly transform before her eyes as it cornered her, blocking off any available exits.

By the time it had reached her, she was once more looking into her own face, except that her features were even more pronounced, more malicious.

For one, her eyes were no longer the sparkling blue they had once been; they were crimson red and dripping with hatred and pure evil. Her cheeks were stained with black, the mascara that was originally stuck to her lashes now running down her face in dribbles and clock shapes. Its lips slowly opened, showing the pointed teeth within, before uttering a warning that chilled her to the bone in a raspy, dead voice;

"Death's army is coming. Sound the trumpets and alarm bells."

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Anzu shot upright in bed. What in Ra's name was that? Whatever it was, it was terrifying. The brunette placed a sweaty hand on her racing heart, trying to calm it down. Her alarm clock still had a few more hours before it would attempt to awaken her from her slumber for school, but Anzu felt too restless to sleep.

Giving up, she ran a hand through her hair as she made her way to the shower. Anzu hated early rises, as she had a job after school that would tire her out, but that nightmare would most likely return.

And Anzu wanted anything but that.


End file.
